


Keeper Of The Fire

by JayPendragon



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Religious, Chosen Peter Parker, God Tony Stark, M/M, Prompt Fill, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:20:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23609008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayPendragon/pseuds/JayPendragon
Summary: Peter quickly scans the area for any clues as to where he ended up.Yet in the end, the only sight that helps him is that of the temple on top of Stark Mountain – the monument to their Iron God, always visible, even on the bleakest of nights.Inspired byPeachbabypie's drabble and artwork on Tumblr, as well as Blushie's spin on it.NOTE: I added this WAY TOO LATE. I screwed up and I sincerely apologize.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Comments: 41
Kudos: 109





	Keeper Of The Fire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deaded_blush](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deaded_blush/gifts).



> This is part of a work exchange between the wonderful Blushnik (aka deaded_blush) and myself. She had a fic prompt, I was in need of a drawing… and this is what happened :)
> 
> Not beta’d, so all mistakes are mine. Apologies! 
> 
> This fic might be considered problematic. Not sure if it counts as blasphemy? Anyway, if you’re sensitive to religious depictions in fanfic, you have been warned.

The first time Peter sees the fire, he’s running. 

Some of the boys from his borough happened upon another kid – small, well-fed, expensively clothed, obviously from the inner city – and decided this made him deserving of their teasing.

Peter knows them from market, has seen them steal and haggle even though their families are better off than others, a violent streak in them that will hopefully see them off to the city guard if they’re lucky… or the pits, if they aren’t. 

Not all hope is lost, though, so Peter intervened before they could cause actual harm (and earned a whipping or worse, cause the kid’s robes were red and gold, don’t the realize what that means?), only now he’s the one they’re chasing after, aiming to torment. 

Peter knows these cobbled streets well enough, yet in his hurry misses a turn. Instead of slide into a cellar, he collides with stone-hard wall. 

He whirls around, looking for another path – 

And then he sees it. 

Warm flames in a cool blue, shining through a hole in the extra high fence. 

Peter slips between the planks before he hears the heavy footfalls of his pursuers. 

When he straightens, the flame is gone. 

Maybe he imagined it? Stress makes people see strange things, he knows. His aunt always says so. 

Damn – his aunt. She’s expecting him. 

Peter quickly scans the area for any clues as to where he ended up. Yet in the end, the only sight that helps him is that of the temple on top of Stark Mountain; the monument to their Iron God, always visible, even on the bleakest of nights. 

It’s still daylight, which is probably why Peter finds his way back as soon as he does. 

Three steps from his front door, a voice stops him. 

“Finally!”

Peter startles, but the voice is still talking. 

“You were gone so fast, man, and the brutes, too, but there was this little old lady who pointed me towards your house and I was getting worried.”

It’s the kid. Or rather, the boy. About Peter’s age, olive skin, a shorn head, draped in red and gold cloth that flows with his movements. 

“Anyway. Thanks for distracting them. Though really, I would’ve been fine. They can’t hurt a herald, after all.”

Peter feels his eyes widen. “You – you’re a herald?”

The guy beams. “Awesome, right? It’s my first mission, too! Should’ve seen the others, they’ve all been at the temple longer, but Stark selected me, and no one can argue with him, right? I mean, he’s a God, and all.”

Peter nods, speechless. He’s never met a herald; only ever seen them from afar. They pave the way for Stark, the Iron God, Bringer of Fire, Creator of Life, to sweep into their midst and choose his next keeper. 

Keepers have always been warriors. From the mighty Steven to the fierce Natalia, each was impressive in their own right. Each went to guard the Blue Fire in the depth of the temple high up Stark Mountain until they were transformed. Each was sent out into the direction of the four winds as stewards, spreading the fire into even the darkest corners of their world. 

“Hang on,” Peter says, “the last keeper only left six weeks ago.”

“Yeah, and he’s already been sent off,” the herald says with a grin. “Stark’s real efficient. Some of the older heralds said he’s rushing things, but I think he’s just that brilliant. Good teacher, too. The keepers are always reluctant to go, but who wouldn’t be? Private lessons from the Creator of Life, can you imagine?”

Peter can’t. He’s heard the stories, of course. Everyone has. You couldn’t grow up within the realm of Stark without tales of brave and righteous individuals who pledged their lives to the Iron God and were rewarded with infinite pleasure and joy. 

But hearing about it and grasping it, understanding it… that’s a different matter entirely. 

“So, um… how does it work?” Peter can’t help but ask. “The Choosing.”

The herald shrugs. “No real plan to it. The others like to pretend there is, but Stark said they only do that cause they need a sense of security. That’s why there’s all the customs, too. Routines. I thought about doing one of those assemblies, but… Well, I don’t like speaking in front of crowds. I’ve just been exploring so far.”

Several questions are buzzing in Peter’s mind, some are even on the tip of his tongue, but he catches himself at the last moment. He promised his aunt he’d help her in the garden. And while meeting a herald would be ample excuse, that’s not the boy she raised him to be. 

To his surprise, the herald perks up at the mention of the garden. 

“Oh, we have one at the temple, too, it’s awesome! What’re you growing?”

Peter has no idea, truth be told, cause herbs and stuff has always been May’s forte. He takes after his uncle, who used to have a talent for wielding hammer and carving knives before he joined the guard. Anyway, it’s easier to show him, so Peter leads the herald – “Ned, call me Ned,” – through their small house into the lush garden. 

It’s bigger than their neighbors’, by a stretch, though only cause they added the lands that used to belong to Peter’s parents. 

If May’s angry that he’s late, it evaporates the moment she spots the colors of Ned’s robes. 

The conversation that follows goes way above Peter’s head, so instead of trying to participate he goes towards their compost heap to sift out some more humus. Summer is coming, after all, and they’ll need a lot of it. 

Yet when he picks up the spade, he drops it with a gasp. 

The handle was hot to his touch. 

“Peter?” 

He crouches down to inspect it. The spade hasn’t changed since the last time he saw it. He reaches out again, but stops within two inches of the handle. It’s radiating heath. 

“Woah, dude…”

When Peter looks up at Ned, he finds the boy grinning. May, meanwhile, has covered her mouth with her hand. 

Then he feels it. 

A spark of warmth, starting in the middle of his chest, then flowing outward. It fills him from head to toe, curling around him like a protective cocoon. He’s never felt so relaxed in his life. 

_I’d sure hope so, kid. C’m on, open your eyes._

Peter startles. There’s a voice in his – why is everything blue?!

A hand grips his shoulder and suddenly, the colors go back to normal. Peter finds himself blinking at Ned, who pulls him into a hug. 

“Welcome to the temple, dude!”

*

Moving from his borough into the quarters on top of Stark Mountain is… weird. 

_Hey, I’d like to see you carve a temple out of a bunch of rocks in a single day._

Hearing the Iron God’s voice inside his head? Even weirder.

_Get used to it, kid. You’re my new keeper. Well, keeper in training. Keeper apprentice. You know what I mean._

According to Ned, it’s completely normal, as is any reaction he undergoes in order to adjust to being one of the handful of people deserving a fraction of their God’s attention. 

Cause Stark is everywhere at once, Peter learns. He’s like air, invisible but there. Omnipresent. 

Peter figures that must get exhausting. 

_Nah, I’m used to it. Know what’s exhausting? Dealing with idiots. I’m a benevolent entity, what the fuck’s so hard to understand about that?_

A lot, apparently, especially if you’ve spent the past decades worshipping Death since it’s been part of your everyday life, so how could their creator be anything else? Peter has heard stories about the Vulture, circling the lands to the north, and Mysterio, haunting the caves in the west, but he never understood the gravity of their treachery. 

_Infidels,_ Stark calls them. Ordinary humans who exploit the suffering around them to their own gain. Reigning by terror and fear and punishment. 

The exact opposite of Stark. 

He’s kind and patient and, like Ned said, a good teacher. He’s not infallible, cause that would be boring, he says. He won’t take over. He upholds free will. 

“But, um… if people wanna follow the Vulture, isn’t that free will, too?” Peter ventures, on his second day. The fine linen robes he was given upon arrival still feel unfamiliar, far softer than anything he’s ever owned.

 _They’re conditioned into believing that’s their best option. Sure, there’s some free will, but they’re brought up within a system that oppresses them. Not that I’m perfect on that front, okay, I see what those merchants down south are aiming at, and I’m gonna deal with that, don’t worry – where was I? Oh yeah, systemic oppression._

Peter is surprised how easy it is to grasp the Stark God’s principles. 

What takes some getting used to is the realization that the Iron God can be quite… selfish. 

_Oh, so it’s selfish to wanna give my creations the best life I possibly can? Well, excuse me for caring! If you wanna go and live in some other universe, kid, just say the word. I’ll find a way._

“Why does it have to be a competition?”

_Huh?_

“You’re talking like… like you’re measuring yourself against others. In these other universes. Like you’re only trying to give us a good life to show you can.”

Stark is silent for a moment. 

Peter holds his breath. Did he go to far? But Stark told him to be honest, and to ask questions. He can’t really punish him for following his wishes, right?

 _Pfft, punish. I don’t punish, period. I reward, that’s it._

“O-okay…”

_Come to the Flame. I wanna talk some more._

“Where’s the –” Peter says, but cuts off when the answer pops up in his mind, clear as day. 

He follows the directions deep into the temple, further into the mountain than he’s ever gone before. The maze of hallways and rooms dwindles to a single tunnel, leading down, down, down, until Peter’s feet grow heavy and his eyes tired. 

Then, when he’s certain he can’t take another step, when the last of his energy fades… 

Everything turns blue. 

Peter can’t describe it. He’s still there, but somehow not. He has a body, can move, yet at the same time he feels light as a feather. 

The air flows around him, like a river of warmth, caressing his skin and tousling his hair. 

The warmth seeps into his skin, through his muscles, into his bones and suddenly Peter knows – it’s Stark’s presence he’s feeling. Not just his voice, or his flame. This is he, the Iron God, making a home in every fiber of Peter’s being. 

A wave of satisfaction rolls through him. 

He’s right, then. But didn’t Stark say he wants to talk? How is this talking?

Amusement curls in Peter’s chest, chasing a flush into his cheeks. 

Oh. He thinks he gets it now. 

*

He can’t tell how long they… communicate that way. It might have been hours, or mere minutes, or an entire century. 

When their streams of thought eventually quiet and disentangle, Peter doesn’t feel exhausted, or tired. 

He feels at peace. 

_Dito, kid._

Wait. Why’re they back to voices? 

_Cause the boundaries are clearer, this way._

But Peter doesn’t want boundaries. He wants to go back to that state of bliss, to harmony – 

_Patience, kid. We will. First, I gotta make some changes._

Peter feels Stark’s presence retreat a little. He’s still around him, enveloping him, but the God’s focus has shifted. 

Then the blue starts to fade. 

The floating sensation recedes and Peter’s feet connect with solid ground. 

He opens his eyes reluctantly.

He’s on what seems to be the roof of the temple. Rock below him, the night sky above him. 

To his left, a field of blue flames. 

_Go ahead,_ he hears. _Trust me._

Peter doesn’t hesitate. 

The moment he steps onto the field, a wave of pleasure crashes through him. It sends him to his hands and knees, gasping. 

_This is your reward, for the record._

It curls in Peter’s chest, drips down to the pit of his stomach, settles in his groin. 

_That’s it…_

Another wave of pleasure sends him writhing. He’s on his back, now, arching off the soft flames, the red and gold robes moving with unseen currents. There is more pressure behind them now, chasing shivers down his spine. 

A strand of cloth lifts his chin, another touches his lips. Peter opens his mouth eagerly and feels a flame lick inside. At the same time, there’s another patch of fabric wrapping around him there, between his legs, adding to the pulsing ball of pleasure in his groin. 

He’s floating, now, balanced on the flames, and he tries to feel it all, welcome every sensation. 

His mind is alight with pleasure, lips moving against the strong pressure he also feels against his shoulders, his legs, the inside of his thighs. 

He can’t remember spreading his legs, but he did, and the fabric of his robes reacts to the invitation. 

Peter feels them spread him, gently, allowing the warm current to dip lower, down his spine and inside, exploring places no one else has ever touched. 

He forgets where he ends and the warmth begins. All the boundaries vanish, replaced with waves of pleasure that would leave him begging if he didn’t know he doesn’t have to. 

Time lost its meaning long ago. There is no rush, no sense of urgency. Just the pressure of the flames, spiraling him higher and higher and higher and higher still, until every breath he takes… brings fireworks. 

They fade slowly. The waves recede, ebbing away but not taking the heat with it. 

It envelops Peter like a blanket, all around him, warming him to the core. 

He feels safe. He feels cherished. He feels like he belongs. 

_You do,_ Stark’s voice says. _To me._

Peter opens his eyes on a “Yes.”

He’s back on top of the temple. He can see the city stretch all the way to the horizon. 

And he can feel Stark, all around him. Inside him. Forever his. 

**The end.**

**Author's Note:**

> I left the ending decidedly vague, so feel free to interpret this as you prefer :)
> 
> Inspired by [Peachbabypie's drabble and artwork on Tumblr](https://peachbabypie.tumblr.com/post/189533642892/reverence-religious-au-peter-is-high-priest-of), as well as Blushie's spin on it.  
> NOTE: I added this WAY TOO LATE. I screwed up and I sincerely [apologize](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1xvv-sBU68RFKONp72CVWfeT0hy_CgH0bDOCg0nSoJAk/edit).


End file.
